


A Christmas Miracle

by Santillatron



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale knows his Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas, Crowley knows his plants (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santillatron/pseuds/Santillatron
Summary: Crowley gets irritated at couples kissing under a holly arch. One thing leads to another, and a sprig of mistletoe makes a timely appearance.Well, it's bad luck not to, isn't it?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 76





	A Christmas Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of holiday fun.
> 
> Kissing under the mistletoe has been around for a long time. Apparently it's bad luck to refuse if someone catches you under it, and they can have as many kisses as berries can be plucked from the plant. 
> 
> They both know this.

Crowley had been muttering the whole time they were out. Aziraphale had only mentioned in passing that he was heading out to enjoy the Christmas Eve atmosphere and see the lights, not expecting Crowley to be in the least bit interested, but the demon had invited himself along and had muttered angrily ever since they saw the arch of holly on Carnaby Street. 

Aziraphale had been a bit subdued himself after watching all the people sharing kisses underneath it. Seeing all those happy couples had made him ache for the things he wasn’t yet brave enough to reach for. It had been months since the two of them became free entities, and he still hadn’t found the courage to break out of their self imposed segregation. _His_ self imposed segregation.

He couldn’t guess what seemed to make Crowley so angry about the scene though. Perhaps, as a demon, he was allergic to all the goodwill and joy that was floating around in the air? By the time they made it back to the bookshop he seemed calmer, but after the first glass of wine he started fidgeting and frowning again. 

“Are you quite alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked after a particularly deep scowl. “Only, I’m getting somewhat apprehensive that I might end up with rather more Jeffrey Archers than I started the evening with…”

Crowley’s face softened immediately. “Nah, ‘s alright. Just…”

Aziraphale waited patiently. Sometimes Crowley needed time to organise his thoughts, and sometimes he needed the pressure of a heavy silence to push them out. 

“You’d think by now that the humans would know the difference between holly and mistletoe.” He grumbled eventually. 

Well. That was unexpected, certainly. 

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow…” Aziraphale said. 

“The arch, Angel. All the idiots kissing under it. They thought it was _mistletoe_.”

“Oh! Was it not?” Aziraphale asked, innocently staring into his swirling wine glass from his usual spot on the desk chair opposite. Crowley was going to simmer away with this unless Aziraphale gave him an outlet, and deliberate obtuseness was a tactic he’d employed to this end on many an occasion. 

“No- no it fucking wasn’t Aziraphale, as you well know! You were involved in half the traditions!” Crowley threw his arms out in frustration, wine making a valiant effort to stay in the glass. 

“Yes, I know, but I haven’t thought about it in so long I’m having quite the job picturing it.” Aziraphale said, taking a sip of wine to hide his smile. “No fear, There’s bound to be an illustration in one of my books!” 

Putting down his wine and getting up from his seat, Aziraphale wandered off into the bookshop, muttering under his breath as he worked out where he might find the right book. He wondered how long it would be before Crowley followed. His voice carried through first. 

“White berries! Thin, light green leaves! You knooooow!” Crowley called out. 

“What was that dear? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch it!” Aziraphale called back from somewhere deep in the shelves, hoping his grin wasn’t audible. 

Crowley made a long, drawn out sound of frustration, tearing his sunglasses off and shoving his wine on a nearby table before throwing himself to his feet to find the angel. Just as he reached the centre of the shop, under the unnecessarily massive skylight (and, really, why was it so big?), Aziraphale returned, face buried in a book held open in one hand. He didn’t see Crowley until they nearly walked into each other. 

“Oh! Sorry, dear boy, I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’d forgotten just how many traditions there were surrounding mistletoe! No illustration though. Now. What were you saying?” Aziraphale asked, looking up to see Crowley standing very close. 

“White berries, Angel, not red. No spikes. Grows up high in other trees. Vaguely suggestive shape. You know the stuff!” Crowley grumbled, arms waving around again. 

Aziraphale looked at him as cluelessly as he could manage. “No, still not ringing any bells I’m afraid.” 

Crowley growled again in frustration, stalking away, only to return, the sound of a swift miracle accompanying his arm swinging up into the space above their heads. He came to a stop barely a foot away from Aziraphale, scowling again. 

“This! This stuff! Mistle-bloody-toe. White berries, long leaves. Not fucking holly!” He spat, voice raised and scowling as he shook the piece of mistletoe in his hand. 

Aziraphale calmly snapped the book shut, slipped it under his arm and reached up towards the sprig of greenery held in Crowley’s hand. He pulled a single, white berry from it and looked from the berry to the sprig where it hung in the space between them, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“Ah yes. I seem to remember there was a tradition that you started, wasn’t there? Something about avoiding bad luck?” He asked, ever so innocently as he rolled the berry in his fingers. He hadn’t expected this turn of events, but he supposed there was such a thing as a Christmas miracle. [1]

Crowley froze, all traces of the irritation gone. 

“Uh, wh- fss…” he managed, shrugging slightly, but not lowering the mistletoe. 

Aziraphale calmly held his unshielded gaze. “I’m sure it’s just superstition, my dear, but I’d rather like to avoid a year of bad luck, if it’s all the same with you.” He said, tilting his head slightly up in invitation. 

Crowley’s eyes flickered down to his mouth, a lightning fast movement that wouldn’t have been caught by anyone not used to the way he moved. Quite an impressive garble of consonants followed, at least half of them borrowed from languages nobody spoke any more. 

Aziraphale sighed, standing tall and rolling his shoulders. “Crowley, either fulfil the obligation you gave yourself by waving that in my face, or send it back where it came from please.”

After a tense couple of moments, Crowley chose the former. He leaned forwards, hesitantly, and pressed closed lips briefly to Aziraphale’s, eyes wide open and watching carefully as he withdrew as quickly as he’d approached. It was more of a serpentine strike than a kiss. As he began to lower the mistletoe, Aziraphale caught his wrist. The kiss had been delightful, but far too short. 

Aziraphale released Crowley’s wrist once he was sure it was going to stay put, but only so he could pluck another berry. Holding it up, he looked at Crowley expectantly, receiving a very curious expression in return. 

Crowley leaned forwards again, the kiss lasting slightly longer this time, but still not enough as Aziraphale swayed forwards, chasing the taste of the wine on Crowley’s retreating lips. His eyes were closed, and Aziraphale waited for them to open and refocus before he very deliberately reached up and took another berry. 

With each berry Crowley became more confident. At some point Aziraphale had waved the book back to its shelf so he could put the hand that wasn’t picking berries to better use against a wonderfully sharp jaw. 

Crowley was the first to tentatively part his lips and let his tongue sweep forwards. It was eagerly welcomed and the next berry couldn’t be picked fast enough. 

Eventually though, Aziraphale realised something wasn’t quite adding up. 

“Darling?” He murmured against Crowley’s lips, receiving a surprised hum in response. “There seem to be rather more berries than one would reasonably expect from a small sprig.”

Crowley paused, a noncommittal but highly incriminating shrug accompanying an equally nonspecific hum. 

“Only, I think we can dispense with the mistletoe now.” Aziraphale said. 

“Uh, yeah, course…” Crowley tossed the greenery quickly over his shoulder where it vanished back into the ether. He went to step back, only to discover Aziraphale had placed an immovable hand on his lower back. The wide-eyed expression returned, an unspoken question in the pinch of his eyebrows. 

“I believe I was quite specific when I said ‘mistletoe’, darling, I see no reason to stop anything else we are doing, if that’s alright with you?” And now it was Aziraphale’s turn to wear the questioning expression, to let the hope flicker to life. He was fairly sure that Crowley wanted this, but he had no idea if Crowley would accept it without the safety net of tradition. The wide blown pupils in eyes that had lost all traces of white suggested he wanted to, at least. 

Apparently incapable of accessing even his reserve store of consonants, Crowley merely leaned forwards again. He watched Aziraphale’s face carefully, pausing slightly just before their lips met. Closing his eyes, and the last centimetre or so, Aziraphale felt the thrill as their mouths connected. 

This time there was no pretence. No excuse. Nothing to hide behind when Aziraphale slid his hands around the back of Crowley’s neck and pulled him in. There was no mistaking the way Crowley’s whole body curved and fitted itself against him, as if it already knew the shape of him, his hands resting tentatively on Aziraphale’s hips. This time Aziraphale was the one to part his lips first and Crowley matched his tongue instantly with a small, broken sound. 

Aziraphale couldn’t stop the smile on his face when they eventually pulled away. A rare, unguarded expression of unbridled joy that hadn’t graced his face in quite some time. 

Crowley didn’t look so sure. 

“What…? Angel, what’s going on?” He asked through beautifully kiss bitten lips. 

Aziraphale brought his hand to Crowley’s cheek, watching the way he fought with himself as he leaned into it. 

“Oh my dearly beloved serpent. I am merely taking advantage of a centuries old tradition, so that I might do something I have been wanting to do for far, far longer. Would you like me to stop?” The angel said, gazing up at his demon. 

“St- what? No! Uh...dearly be-what?” Crowley managed. 

“Oh! Ah… yes. I did say that, didn’t I.” Aziraphale said, looking away sheepishly. He sighed. “Well, it’s no use trying to pretend otherwise. I wasn’t intending on springing this on you all in one go, but I do rather love you, Crowley, quite hopelessly. And I have done for a very long time, even by our standards. It’s rather a relief to be able to say it out loud!”

Several things happened next, all at once. Crowley’s hands shot out to receive his wine glass in one, and his sunglasses in the other. Glasses rammed haphazardly onto his face, the wine was downed in one inhumanly large gulp and the glass banished again. He then stepped back, turned on his heel and strode across the bookshop, muttering and hissing. For a gut wrenching moment Aziraphale thought he was going to walk right out of the door but Crowley swerved at the last second and stayed in the shop, albeit pacing around like a caged animal. Aziraphale had to turn to keep watching him. 

Then, abruptly, he strode back and stood right in front of the angel. 

“How long are we talking, exactly?” He demanded, and Aziraphale had to admit this reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected. 

“Honestly? I have no idea. I can’t remember not feeling this draw to you. Even from the first moment I saw you, you were different. It took until the Blitz for me to realise that I might not be alone in my feelings.” Aziraphale was still looking up at Crowley hopefully, wringing his hands. 

“Those bloody books.” Crowley said, barely above a whisper. 

“A little demonic miracle of your own.” Aziraphale sighed, smiling at the memory. 

Crowley paced back and forth again. “Was a bit bloody obvious, wasn’t it.” He paused, turning slowly towards Aziraphale with a smirk on his face. “Paris.” He said with glee. 

“Paris? Oh! Paris. Yes, well. You know I’ve never managed to find crêpes that have come anywhere close? I did wonder how much of the enjoyment came from the company.” Aziraphale’s hands relaxed as he thought back over one of his favourite memories. Thinking about it always carried an element of risk due to the nature of the alternative endings he’d conjured up in the privacy of his imagination, and his body tended to have an almost Pavlovian response to the first hint of shackles and lace now, but it was still a treasured moment. Apparently he wasn’t the only one that looked back on it fondly. 

“First time I thought there might be more than just the Arrangement going on.” Crowley said, sounding very pleased with himself. “Didn’t expect it to be _that_ though.” 

Snapping himself out of his reverie just as the warmth started spreading up from his neck, Aziraphale returned Crowley’s smirk with a sharp look that only served to broaden the curve of the demon’s insouciant lips. 

“Right then.” Oh and now Crowley was looking exceptionally pleased with himself. Never a good sign. “Just so I... y’know, _know_ , if mistletoe is what got you to finally kiss me, what blessed bit of plant matter do I need to manifest to get you out of those clothes? If that’s the sort of thing you were interested in…” 

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh my silly serpent, you don’t need a plant for that. Although oysters will go a long way towards helping. And, yes, as you have guessed, that is the ‘sort of thing’ I am interested in, when it comes to you.” Aziraphale’s expression slipped into something more heated as he let his gaze wander down the length of Crowley’s body, before trailing slowly back up. He was surprised to realise how utterly calm he felt. He’d been terrified of crossing that boundary, but now they were here he felt more at peace than he had done in quite some time. It brought an uncharacteristic boldness to his demeanour. “Frankly, it’s a miracle [2] I’ve kept my clothes on all these years with the way you’ve been conducting yourself.”

Crowley made a back-of-the-throat sound that seemed to want to be a whimper but Crowley would never believe he could make such a noise so it got rather mangled on the way out. He shoved his hands in his pockets, spun around so his back was to Aziraphale, rocked on the balls of his feet and heaved a deep sigh. 

He grumbled something Aziraphale didn’t quite catch. 

“What was that, dearest?” 

Crowley turned slightly, half looking at Aziraphale over his shoulder. “Said… ILoveYouToo.” Snapping his head back around, he looked at the floor, groaning again, before his shoulders sagged from where they had been almost touching his ears and he tipped his head back and sighed. 

“Angel… I can _feel_ you giving me that look. Stop it.” 

“What look would that be?” 

“The one where you’re about to tell me I’m nice or some shit.”

Aziraphale tried to rein in his smile. “Well you are. In fact, you’re positively adora-mmph!” 

Crowley had whipped around before Aziraphale had even started saying it, intending to shove him up against the nearest wall, but instead found himself kissing him again. Eh, it shut him up. Definitely a tactic worth using again. 

“I’m not adorable.” He growled against Aziraphale’s lips, sending a shiver up the Angel’s spine.

“Then please explain how it is that I've adored you for so long?” Aziraphale replied, only slightly breathless. 

“You’re a blessed fool.” Crowley responded instantly. 

“Ah, but seeing as we are now on our own side, that would make me _your_ blessed fool, I believe.” Aziraphale said, sounding rather pleased with himself. 

“Nah, it’d have to be a damned fool.” Crowley pulled back slightly, releasing the collar of Aziraphale’s jacket. “So, what part of my ‘conduct’ has you contemplating naturism then?” Crowley teased, receiving a huff in response as Aziraphale smoothed down his clothes. 

“Oh, you know full well what you do.” Aziraphale replied, blushing slightly. 

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, Angel.” Crowley rested his weight down into one hip, licking his lips and grinning slightly. It was maddening, but he wasn’t sent out on the very first temptation for nothing.

“You know!” Aziraphale’s hands fluttered around, waving vaguely in his direction. “All the… the sauntering, and, and displaying yourself. I’m certain the phrase ‘snake hips’ has something to do with you, you fiend.” 

“‘Displaying’ eh? Been wondering what’s underneath, have you?” Crowley spun on the spot, really quite unfairly. 

“Oh my dear I know full well what’s under there. Well, one of the options, at least. That’s half the problem.” Aziraphale grumbled, refusing to meet his gaze.

Crowley stumbled. “Wha?” He managed, looking slightly panicked. He didn't remember any particular occasion where he'd managed to give the angel an eyeful. 

“Do you remember the Roman baths, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, receiving a nod in response [3] . “So do I. Not to mention you were awful at tying togas. But then again I suppose your sartorial choices have never left much to the imagination.” Aziraphale looked him fully up and down again. It was quite thrilling to be able to look so openly. 

“Look, I’m a snake. All those loops just didn’t want to stay put. ‘S hardly my fault.” Crowley grumbled. Then he blinked. ”Wait, you mean all this time you’ve had grade A wank fodder when I’ve had to make do with glimpses in the mist?!” 

“In the… in the mist?!” Aziraphale looked at him, shocked. 

Crowley waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Wessex. Came to find you, found more than I bargained for. Left you to your lake bath and caught up later.”

Aziraphale thought back. 

“It was very misty then, wasn’t it? Oh! Was that before we had dinner? You did seem a bit off. I thought it was because I’d rejected your original idea for the Arrangement.” Crowley shook his head. “You should have stayed. You’d have had quite the show.” Aziraphale sipped his wine calmly, having apparently summoned it while Crowley was picturing a naked, creamy skinned arse wading into a lake. Crowley spluttered again. “Well, I did, as you so delicately put it, have some ‘grade A wank fodder’, and there were some rather extraordinary stories circulating about the fabled Black Knight’s activities that only served to, ah, inflame the matter in hand.” 

“I’ll inflame your matter.” Crowley grumbled into his own newly recalled wine, not quite as quietly as he’d intended. 

“You rather did, hence the cold lake.” Came the half-muttered reply. 

Crowley looked at the angel sharply. “What kind of show did I miss?”

“Yes, well, I didn’t say the cold lake _worked_ now, did I?”

Crowley stared at him. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, “but I’m-”

“My bastard?” Crowley finished. “Damn right you are.” Tipping his glass as he looked up and extended one finger to point to the angel, he gave him a serious look. “And don’t you forget it.” 

“I haven’t managed to do that in six thousand years, dearest. I hardly think I’m going to manage it now. Now, it would please me immensely, darling, if you would come here.” Aziraphale extended his hand into the space between them, palm facing up. Crowley looked at it, a smile lingering on his face as he reached out and grabbed it with his own. A gentle tug was all that was needed for Aziraphale to drag him back to his side, a beaming smile waiting for him. 

Crowley couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried. He leant in, his hand coming up to cup the angel’s face as he kissed him again, a slow, tender affair this time. 

“Why tonight?” Crowley asked eventually. “Why spring all this on me tonight?” 

“I do believe you were the one that waved mistletoe in my face, dearest. Seeing as you are responsible for the whole kissing thing, I hardly think any of this is my fault.” Aziraphale replied primly. 

“Wave something else in your face in a minute…” Crowley muttered leaning in to taste the soft skin of the angel’s neck.

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed softly, signalling the midnight hour. 

“Darling if that is your idea of seducing me I think we may have to revisit the plant idea again.” Aziraphale said, tilting his head to give Crowley better access. Nimble fingers were pulling at his bow tie and he found himself clutching at Crowley’s jacket to hold himself up. 

Not letting up for a moment, Crowley gestured and suddenly the bookshop was filled with drifts of white hellebores, pots adorning every surface. 

“M’rry Christmas Angel.” Crowley murmured from somewhere in the region of his ear. 

“Well I'll be damned. That… that’ll do it…” Aziraphale said weakly as his jacket was pushed off and his back hit the bookshelf behind. “Oh good lord!”

It was, by all accounts, a very happy Christmas indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> [1]There are. He’s had to write up the reports for quite a few of them. Well, he couldn’t let Gabriel have all the fun.
> 
> [2]Literally. The Bastille clothing swap had been a split second from being less of a swap and more of a shed. 
> 
> [3]Crowley did indeed remember the Roman baths. He’d been on long term temptations back then, inspiring all sorts of lubricious behaviour, so naturally looked the part as he glided, naked and oiled, into the water. He’d turned quite a few heads, tarnishing a very respectable number of souls and earning himself a fat bonus. He hadn’t realised Aziraphale had counted amongst his audience. 
> 
> Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, and Season's Greetings if you don't!


End file.
